


loving you’s the antidote

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Harry Styles is a Little Shit, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moving In Together, New York City, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Post-One Direction, Sad Zayn Malik, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: zayn wakes up and the first thing he notices is how much his head hurts. the second thing he notices is that he’s still in the shirt he wore the night before. the third thing he notices is that this is not his bed.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	loving you’s the antidote

loving you’s the antidote

the club is busy, is the first thing harry notices when he walks in. its busy, sweaty and loud. this is both a good and a bad thing. the good part of it is that its so busy he’ll blend right in and most likely won’t be recognised in the short time he’s planning on being here. the bad part is that it’ll be difficult to find zayn in such a huge crowd, since zee is a social chameleon and could be hanging with just about anyone in this place. 

harry moves through the crowd of people by the bar, his eyes scanning every face as much as they can in this dimly lit place. 

he spots zayn dancing in the middle of the floor, his arms in the air as his hips sway to the beat of a completely different song to the one playing. the light of the club makes him look angelic even in his drunken, drugged up sweat, and it takes a lot of willpower for harry not to just join him in partying. instead he walks over, elbowing his way through the crowd to grab zayn by the waist and spin him round so the two boys are eye to eye.

“hey haz, missed you,” zayn mumbles, leaning as he talks so his breath his hot against harry’s lips. zayn’s left hand finds its way to grip harry’s shirt, his right placed on harry’s waist clumsily. “come on, let me get you home, yeah?” harry shouts down the boy’s ear over the music. zayn shakes his head, closing his eyes and opening them again slowly, then smiling mischievously.

zayn’s eyes are decorated with thick black eyeliner, and silver stars are drawn onto the outer corners of his eyes. the white shirt he’s wearing hangs loose on him, telling harry its probably borrowed, and the top buttons are undone, revealing the top of zayn’s extensive chest tattoo collection. he’s wearing black skinny jeans, which amuses harry as zayn is usually one to diss them. the shoes that were hopefully once on his feet are now discarded somewhere unknown, maybe a drunk gift to a stranger, maybe abandoned in the bathroom of this place. harry doesn’t care to find out. zayn has plenty of shoes at home. 

“dance with me, harry? i like this song,” he replies, moving to grab harry’s hands with his own and lifting their arms up above their heads. he moves his hips slowly, laughing to himself, then turns himself under harry’s arm in a spin. “come on, zee, its time to go home,” harry repeats, breaking from zayn’s grip to put his hands on zayn’s elbows. he turns to walk off the dance floor, but zayn wriggles out of his clutch and then throws his arms over harry’s shoulder, pulling him so their faces are merely an inch apart.

“wanna stay, ‘s fun here,” he slurs, half open eyes staring up at harry. his pupils are blown, and harry knows he’s on too many drugs right now for him to be in public. “lou’s outside waiting in the car, can’t keep him waiting can we?” harry tries, but his words are cut short as zayn presses a kiss against his lips, pulling back with a giggle. “we never kiss in public, do we haz? naughty zayn,” his words are becoming more incoherent and so harry gives up with sweet talk and grabs him by the waist, lifting his feet off the floor and carrying him off the floor and out of the club doors.

he puts him down once they’re outside, sitting him on a bench outside the club, then pulls his phone out to see where louis is. zayn shivers in the cold, humming a song to himself as his teeth chatter. “you want my coat?” harry asks as his phone rings loudly. zayn nods, reaching out with grabby hands and harry can’t help but smile fondly as he wraps his big, black jacket around the boy’s shoulders. “hey haz, you got him out?” louis asks. 

“yeah, took me a while. you nearly here?” harry replies, watching as zayn fiddles with the zip of the jacket, still humming but less enthusiastic. “just around the corner. is he okay?” louis continues, and harry replies by sighing, and then “i’ll see you in a minute.” he turns back to zayn, who’s stopped humming now and is staring at the road, breathing heavily. “hey, zee, you okay?” he asks, concerned as he kneels in front of the boy, placing gentle hands on his knees.

“feel sick,” zayn replies, and harry moves just in time as vomit escapes zayn’s body onto the pavement. harry sighs, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back as he throws up, the smell making his nose scrunch up. “let it all out now, yeah? can’t be doing that in lou’s car,” he says softly, making zayn chuckle as he wipes his mouth on his arm. harry wraps an arm around zayn, and the latter accepts the embrace, burying his face in harry’s chest.

“thanks for looking after me,” zayn mumbles into harry’s shirt. harry smiles, running gentle fingers through zayn’s curls as he says “its my job, silly.” louis’s car pulls outside the club, and harry helps zayn onto his feet and into the backseat, then jogs to the other side of the car and clambers in. he helps zayn do his seatbelt and then watches him closely the entire journey home, half chattering with louis as he drives. zayn rests his head on the car window, eyes following whatever passes by. 

“you have a good night, zayn?” louis asks, eyeing him in the rear view mirror, probably risk assessing the likelihood of vomit finding its way onto his leather seats. “so good, lou. should’ve come, you would’ve liked it,” zayn replies, smiling softly. louis chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “not sure you’ll be saying that tomorrow, mate,” he says fondly. zayn just shrugs, lidded eyes the tell tale sign he’s not really listening. 

“am i taking you to his apartment or yours?” louis asks harry, who’s still watching zayn with caring eyes. “mine, easier to get him to bed when its not his own,” harry jokes, making louis nod and chuckle again. 

louis pulls up outside harry’s apartment building and watches in the wing mirror as harry struggles to help zayn out of the car, hoisting the man up under his armpit. “thanks lou, i owe you,” harry shouts as he turns to walk zayn into the building. “fuck yeah, you do,” louis replies cheekily, then speeds off down the road. harry shakes his head, laughing to himself as he leads zayn into the lobby. the building is almost silent, as it should be at three in the morning on a thursday, and so of course zayn takes it upon himself to start singing.

“hey, hey, shush,” harry hushes, putting a hand over zayn’s mouth and then groaning in disgust when zayn licks his palm. they make their way slowly to the lift, and the fast motion as they travel up makes zayn shut up. he stares at the floor, probably willing himself not to be sick again, and harry keeps a protective arm around his waist to be sure. they arrive at the fifteenth floor and harry fumbles with his keys, eventually sliding them into the lock and gently kicking the door open. 

zayn stumbles past him into the apartment, throwing himself down on the sofa and letting out a hearty laugh at the noise it makes as it squelches beneath him. harry shakes his head, kicking his shoes off and depositing his keys in the tray beside the door, then flicking a light on. he heads to the kitchen and pours a glass of water, then moves to where zayn is sat and hands him the glass. “vodka?” zayn asks hopefully, dopey smirk painting his lips. “water, dickhead. drink up,” harry replies bluntly.

zayn gulps the water down, humming to himself as he does. harry watches with furrowed eyebrows until every last drop is down zee’s throat. when he’s done drinking, harry takes the glass and tosses it in the sink, then begins the thankless task of getting zayn into bed. “right, come on, get those sticky clothes off,” he says, grabbing zayn by the waist and pulling him up to stand. zayn stares at him, unmoving. “zee, lift your arms up, come on,” harry instructs. still, zayn stands with his arms by his sides, refusing to do as he’s told. his mouth twitches into a defiant smirk and harry really can’t be bothered with drunk, high zayn right now.

“fine, sleep in those clothes then. come on, bed,” harry mumbles, pointing towards the bedroom door. zayn sits down dramatically on the couch, giggling. “zayn, please, i’m tired,” harry begs now, kneeling down in front of him. zayn takes hold of one of harry’s curls with a finger and twists it slowly, smiling. “you worry too much, haz,” he states matter of factly, leaning forward to press a wet kiss to harry’s forehead. harry smiles at him, he can’t help it. 

“right, if you won’t go willingly, i’ll just have to force you,” he teases, then without warning lifts zayn up by his armpits and swings him over his shoulder, placing one arm against his arse to keep him up. zayn laughs in surprise, his hands clutching the back of harry’s shirt. “are we complying yet, mr malik?” harry asks in a mock serious tone, to which he receives a giggled no. “right then,” and then harry storms to the bedroom, kicking the door open forcefully, earning another laugh from zayn.

he throws the boy roughly onto the bed, pulling off his jeans with fake anger and then jumping to lay beside him. zayn giggles again, turning onto his side so the men are nose to nose. “you’re a mystery, zayn malik,” harry mumbles, wrapping an arm around the other boy’s waist and pulling him closer. “goodnight, o love of my life,” zayn replies, pressing a kiss to harry’s lips. harry watches as zayn’s eyes flutter shut, and then rolls onto his back, exhaling deeply. 

this has become routine to him: driving out to some random club after zayn’s been missing for a day or two, dragging an inebriated, drugged up zayn home and then watching him sleep it all off. its something that gets exhausting after the second time, and at this point harry has lost count of how many times there’s been. the main worry is that one day paparazzi or even worse someone who’ll take advantage of zayn’s vulnerable state will find him before harry does.

but zayn isn’t a pet and harry can’t stop him from doing anything, he knows that. he knows that any time harry asks him to stay in instead of going out, zayn feels crowded and controlled. you can’t chain zayn malik down, no matter how much you may want to settle down with him or be in a normal, domestic relationship with him. he’ll try, god if he loves you enough he’ll really try, but at the end of the day you can’t change a person and he will always fall back into the routine of going out, getting drugged up to the eyeballs and worrying you sick. 

***

zayn wakes up and the first thing he notices is how much his head hurts. his brain feels like its on fire, and its so overwhelming he instantly has to shut his eyes again and throw the covers over his head. the second thing he notices is that he’s still in the shirt he wore the night before. it sticks to his chest in a way that makes him feel claustrophobic, but his arms ache too much to take it off and so he lets it be. the third thing he notices is that this is not his bed.

he can tell by the smell of the sheets that harry must’ve brought him to his place last night. he smiles, thankful. god knows how he would’ve got home if harry hadn’t have come and got him from wherever the hell he was. this thought makes zayn realise harry is probably gonna be mad at him.

on cue, there’s a knock on the door and zayn hears footsteps approaching. “wakey wakey, sleeping beauty,” harry mumbles, tugging at the bedsheets until zayn’s head is exposed. the latter groans, covering his eyes with his arm. “hey, come on, shower time. you stink, zee,” harry insists, sitting down on the edge of the bed. zayn sighs, sitting up slowly and wincing at how much his bones ache. he looks at harry with guilty eyes and sees the disappointment blended in with the green. 

“how gone was i last night?” zayn asks, running his hands through his messy hair. he can smell vomit on himself and its making his stomach uneasy. “you kissed me in the middle of a crowded club, so you must've been pretty gone,” harry snaps, his voice bitter, and then he adds, “get a shower, you’re stinking up my bedroom.” with that, harry stands up and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and zayn winces. so harry’s that angry.

harry has always been more comfortable with being open about his sexuality, showing off his flamboyant nature to the public. its all part of the harry styles experience, he had joked once. it was easy for him, the handsome white boy who’s never been ashamed of being himself. 

for zayn its different. if he had followed family tradition, he would’ve been married years ago, probably to some young, pretty british pakistani daughter of one of his father’s friends. he may even have had a kid or two by now, and there would definitely be no kissing boys in busy nightclubs. 

zayn can tell his reluctance to be open about their relationship bothers harry. god, if it were the other way round he’d probably be just as mad if not madder. but there’s this deep routed fear installed in zayn’s harddrive, a fear that dates back to his high school days when he was teased for staring at the older boys out of the classroom window while they did their physical education class on the field. it dates back to his sister finding magazines under his mattress of shirtless male celebrities, of him making her swear on her life she’d never tell their parents. 

it dates back to the days of the band, when louis or harry would breathe near each other and the fans would go crazy, but if zayn so much as complimented one of the boys he’d receive major backlash.

so yeah, times have changed and people are open about who they love and god yes, zayn wants to shout it from the rooftops that he’s in love with harry styles. and he wants their love to be conventional, wants their love to be like the love you see in movies. he wants everything in harry’s life to be as perfect as he deserves, and that is exactly why zayn is so self critical. because he can’t be perfect for harry, he can’t be the boyfriend harry deserves and yet he’s too selfish to give him up. he knows him and harry are on thin fucking ice, all through faults of his own, and he’s clinging on desperately to something so delicate and he’s not sure how much more pressure they can withstand.

and so zayn gets out of bed and drags himself to the shower and scrubs his body until it hurts. he lets the water run along his skin until it itches and his feet turn pink from standing up for so long. he lets shampoo and conditioner run down his body and then steps out of the shower and wraps a thick towel around his body. he stares at himself in the steamed up mirror, breathing heavily as water from his hair drips onto his feet. god, he really hates himself sometimes.

he excuses himself from his thoughts and scrubs his hair with a towel until it stops dripping and pulls on harry’s dressing gown. it swamps his small frame, making him laugh at the sight of himself in the mirror. he heads out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where harry is sat on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone.

“don’t stink anymore,” zayn announces, making harry look up from his phone. the ghost of a smile traces his face and he looks back down. “you always stink,” he teases, making zayn smirk and throw the wet towel at his face. “dick,” zayn comments, moving to the mirror in the corner of the room, where he runs fingers through his hair, frowning at the way the curls have dried. his hair never usually gets this long. he can’t remember the last time he cut it. “you look cute,” harry reads his mind, “like an overgrown bear.” zayn snorts. “hardly a compliment.”

harry moves to stand behind his boyfriend, placing gentle hands on his hips and pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “we’re really hot, aren’t we?” he states, making zayn smile goofily and turn to kiss him. harry smiles into the kiss, deepening it as he puts a hand on zayn’s butt and the other on the back of his head. zayn likes this, when harry’s not mad at him anymore. its easier, more peaceful. 

“you feeling okay?” harry asks softly as zayn buries his face in his boyfriend’s neck. he likes it when harry doesn’t wear a top, likes the way his bare chest feels against his skin. “tired. need some fresh air,” zayn replies after thinking for a moment. harry nods, placing his hands on zee’s cheeks and kissing him softly. “nurse harry is here to make you feel better,” he teases, earning a small playful punch on the arm. 

“lets go on a walk, yeah? come on,” harry leads zayn to the wardrobe and pulls out a sweater that will definitely make zayn look even tinier than he is. harry pulls it over his boyfriend’s head, simultaneously removing the dressing grown in the smoothest transition zayn’s ever seen. “go on, put your shitty jeans from last night on and we’ll go for a walk.”

***

they walk down the street, only a couple inches or so apart, the breeze pushing their hair off their faces. zayn hasn’t seen them yet but he’s sure there’ll be paparazzi somewhere. his fingers itch to reach out and lace with harry’s, but that overwhelming sinking feeling in his stomach stops him. they’re not harry and zayn, boyfriends right now. they’re harry and zayn, ex bandmates turned best friends. and that hurts, because harry is amazing and zayn wants to show how much he appreciates that.

zayn’s limbs ache from the night before and he wishes he had more self control. but walking helps, and fresh air helps, and being with harry helps. they stop at a stall on the side of the road that sells coffee and harry buys them a large cappuccino to share. they sip it as they walk along, harry in his long, brown winter’s coat and zayn in one of harry’s small, fluffy cropped jackets.

zayn watches harry from the corner of his eye. he thinks about harry’s short brown curls and how they used to be long enough to pull into a bun. he thinks about harry’s enchanting green eyes and about how often he finds himself lost in them. he thinks about how lucky he is that he’s the one who gets to kiss harry goodnight, to see him in his sleepy morning daze, to laugh with him when he’s giddy and to hold him when he’s hurting. 

he thinks about how a confusing, complicated, raw love formed between the pair of them, how what was once barely a friendship blossomed over the years into a companionship that just about still works. most of all, he thinks about how many people on this planet are searching for their person, and how lucky he was to find his so soon, so early into his life, how lucky he is that he gets to spend his love on harry edward styles.

“if i wasn’t me, i’d kiss you right now,” zayn finds himself admitting out loud. harry smirks, raising an eyebrow as they walk side by side. “oh, yeah?” he teases, and he inches a slight bit closer. their fingers brush as they walk and zayn finds himself looking at his feet. “if i was who i was last night, i’d kiss you right now,” he says, this time embarrassment lacing his voice. god, he’s so confident when he’s drugged up. 

“what if you’re neither? if who you are now and who you were then don’t matter?” harry suggests, and what he says makes no sense and total sense all in one. and zayn is so overwhelmed by such a simple yet confusing sentence that he stops walking and grabs harry by his collar and kisses him.

harry doesn’t kiss back at first, out of pure shock that this is happening, zayn is kissing him in public. then he deepens the kiss, placing a hand on the small of zayn’s back and tilting his head down so zayn doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes. zayn wraps his arms around harry’s neck, eyes tight shut as if no one can see them as long as he keeps them closed.

and then they pull apart and zayn has to take a big gulp of air and harry worries it was too much for him. but slowly, zayn laces their fingers together, and his mouth flips from a frown to a smile, and they make their way down the street hand in hand. and as they walk zayn’s stomach feels less turbulent and his grip on harry’s hand loosens to a comfortable grasp. and its alright.

they get back to harry’s apartment and harry is giddy, lifting zayn up like a toddler and kissing him happily. zayn giggles, still weary from the events of the night before, but willing to forget that for harry. he’s placed on the kitchen counter gently, and then harry is kissing him again, hand on his chin to keep his head up.

“proud of you,” harry mumbles, running fingers down zayn’s arm, making the latter’s spine shiver. “took me this long,” zayn replies, shrugging, but harry grabs his shoulders and kisses him again, passionately this time. “still, proud,” he says into the kiss.

zayn’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he sighs, pulling it out as harry watches him with analysing eyes. “mum says she’s seen photos on twitter and wants to know if they’re photoshopped,” zayn’s voice shakes slightly. harry sighs. “already?” zayn nods, looking up at him with those goddamn bambi eyes that render harry speechless.

zayn decides to call his mum because speaking is so much easier to him than texting when it comes to her. she answers after three rings. “hey mum, i- yes, its real mum, i- yes, just- thank you, mum. yeah, i love you more. yes, and harry loves you too,” harry smiles fondly as his boyfriend struggles to get a word in with his mum. “i’ll visit soon, i promise. give dad and the girls my love, yeah? bye, love you.”

“mama malik okay?” harry asks, placing his hands around zayn’s waist and kissing his forehead with a delicacy only he could achieve. “she’s fine, she said we look cute,” zayn half laughs. harry smirks. he’s always had a soft spot for trisha, and he knows she loves him just as much. 

“see? nothing to worry about,” harry holds zayn’s head close to his chest, pressing kisses into the boy’s hair. “love you,” zayn mumbles, wrapping arms around harry’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. “love you more, shithead.”

***

harry wakes up and zayn isn’t beside him in bed like he was when they drifted off last night. they spent the night watching movies and drinking wine and pretending for once to be civilised. and now harry stretches out to reach for warm golden skin and instead finds empty bedsheets. he frowns and turns to look at the alarm clock. its six fifteen in the morning. too early.

zayn will be in the bathroom, he tells himself, rolling back over and closing his eyes. he’ll just wait a few minutes, and zayn will be back. and so he waits. and when he opens his eyes again its six thirty two and zayn still isn’t there. so he gets up. 

his first thought is to check his phone, but then he notices zayn’s own phone still perched on the bedside table where it was placed last night. so no phone. harry then heads to the living room, where the tv remains off and the vhs boxes from last night are still scattered across the coffee table and the popcorn crumbs still decorate the rug. 

so he goes to the kitchen where everything is the same, except a box of cornflakes now sits on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, and there’s an open pack of cigarettes on the breakfast bar. and harry sighs, and heads to the balcony.

he looks out of the window first, and sure enough, zayn is sat on one of the metal chairs, a cigarette in his hand. a cup of coffee sits on the table beside him. he’s staring out at the city, his eyebrows half knitted in a mixture of concentration and relaxation. he’s wearing one of harry’s tee shirts, because when is he not?

harry slides the door open, cautious not to disturb him, and slips into the other seat. zayn greets him with a small smile, before turning his attention back to the skyline.

“its early,” harry notes, taking the cigarette from zayn’s hand and putting it in his own mouth. he inhales deeply, watched closely by zayn’s sleepy eyes. “brain’s being loud,” the latter replies simply, and harry nods; he understands. a bird flys by, catching zayn’s attention. harry watches as zayn’s eyes follow the bird in its little loop, before it disappears above them. 

“last night was nice,” zayn says, his voice soft and hoarse, like he’s been crying. harry wouldn’t be surprised. “yeah, it was,” he replies. and silence resumes. harry loves this, just existing in each other’s space. simple sentences exchanged are all they need sometimes. its enough, just being with each other, not doing anything in particular.

“might go back to mine tonight, you can come if you want?” zayn asks, but its not a question. they both know zayn is telling not asking and they both know harry’s answer is yes regardless. “yeah i will,” harry confirms anyway, just to put into words. quiet words are easier to understand than loud thoughts. 

“okay,” zayn replies, smiles softly. harry could look at that smile a million times and still get the same funny feeling in his stomach. “okay,” harry giggles slightly, taking hold of the cup of coffee and sipping it slowly. when he puts it down zayn is staring at him with a stern expression. “so we’re just sharing drinks and fags now?” he asks, waving the cigarette in his hand. 

they stare at each other for a moment or two before both of them break out in giggles, harry’s eyes crinkling in the corners, zayn’s tongue sticking out ever so slightly. harry’s hand slips onto zayn’s thigh comfortably. “so, brain too loud, huh?” harry asks.

zayn nods, looking back out at the city again. “lot going on. i’m okay though,” he explains, throwing the cigarette into the ashtray on the table. “you sure?” harry checks, playing with the collar of zayn’s shirt absentmindedly. “yeah, sure,” zayn replies, taking hold of harry’s hand and smiling at him.

they go back inside and zayn sits at the breakfast bar while harry makes omelettes. harry’s no chef, and would never claim to be one, but he does make a pretty damn good omelette. he serves zayn his first, with a glass of orange juice, and then his own. the two boys tuck in, listening to the host on the radio on top of the fridge talk about some new artist or other.

“nice omelette, mr styles,” zayn says as he clears the last piece off his plate. harry grins, leaning forward to wipe the crumbs from the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. “foods meant to go in your mouth, babe, not around it,” he teases. zayn sticks a playful tongue out in response. 

they get a shower together because for some reason today they’re that gross kind of couple who can’t spend a minute apart. harry washes zayn’s hair, massaging his scalp carefully and god, if this is what domestic is zayn could do this any day of the week for the rest of his life. 

while they dry themselves harry tells zayn he’s taking him somewhere special, which amuses zayn since they’ve both been living in new york for so long now he’s sure they’ve seen every hipster cafe and/or bookstore and/or thrift shop and/or record store there is to find. no other type of place could be deemed special to harry, he’s a vintage soul. zayn admires that about him.

so zayn gets dressed in his now three day old jeans and another one of harry’s sweaters, and harry comments how good he looks even in scrappy clothes. harry goes with black pants, white striped, and a black shirt that shows off the chain he wears around his neck. he looks hot, and zayn makes sure he knows this as he presses countless kisses to the boy’s neck.

they pull coats and shoes on, and harry grabs a bag and shoves a pair of jeans and a clean pair of underwear into it and slings it over his shoulder. he grabs his keys, switches off the electrics in his apartment and then the couple leave the building hand in hand.

its nice holding harry’s hand in public, zayn thinks. new, and frightening, but nice. they’ve been together for so long, and yet there’s this teenage romance element to the new excitement zayn’s been feeling these past couple of days. he really likes it. 

people stare as they walk down the street, but zayn knows its because of who they are and not what they are. and it makes his stomach fill up with good butterflies, not the bad ones. and it makes him walk with a smile on his face. he squeezes harry’s hand every now and then to let him know that this is making him happy. 

they turn a few corners and cross a few roads, and zayn recognises the street they’re walking down. “haz, are you taking me to the martz?” he asks softly. the cafe in question is one the boys frequently go to after an argument or an emotional day, to wind down and make up and just let loose a little.

“maybe,” harry draws his words out, smiling goofily as they stop outside the little blue cafe door. “you said somewhere special, we come here all the time,” zayn says, eyebrows raised, folding his arms. “yeah but, the people inside it are pretty special so,” harry replies bashfully, gesturing with his head to the cafe window.

zayn looks inside and sees louis, niall and liam sat at a table in the corner of the small coffee shop. an ecstatic grin finds its way quickly onto zayn’s face as he looks back at harry with excitement. before harry can say anything else, he’s being grabbed by the hand and dragged into the cafe. zayn rushes over to where his friends are sat.

“hey, zee!” niall says happily, standing up and wrapping his arms around the boy in a gentle embrace. louis and liam mirror his actions, hugging zayn and then harry in turn. the couple slip into the two empty seats at the table, a menu shoved in front of them by liam.

“god its been so long, hasn’t it? since all five of us have met up,” niall says happily, practically bouncing in his seat. “too long,” louis corrects, smiling at them all with that wise, weary beam. he catches zayn’s eye and winks, earning him a smirk in reply. god, they’ve all missed each other. harry orders a cappuccino for himself and an americano for zayn and a tray of sandwiches for the table, insisting he pays. 

“what would we do without sugar daddy harry, eh?” louis jokes, making the four others laugh as harry shakes his head fondly. seven minutes later an array of sandwiches is being fought over, with zayn smuggling all the chicken and mayos before anyone else can get to them.

the boys talk and talk as if they’ve never spent any time apart and they feel like teenagers again, like they’re about to tour the world far too young, about to experience life at super speed. you can see it on their faces, the lines decorating their skin too soon for a group of lads in their mid to late twenties. you can see it in louis’s eyebags and zayn’s hollow cheeks and niall’s laugh lines and liam’s worn out hands and harry’s dimmed eyes. but they’re still them. they’re still themselves and after all this time, they’re still best friends. and its nice, for all of them, having four people in your life you can always depend on, who will always be in your corner even when the rest of the world has shut you out. 

when the time comes to leave, zayn almost cries. he hugs liam, louis and niall in turn, holding onto them for as long as he can before they have to go. and harry can tell how grateful zayn is for their friendship, for their forgiveness. when zee left the band, he was terrified he’d lost them all forever.

it took a little while but once the band was done for good, the relationships fixed themselves over time and everything was okay. zayn had his boys back, and now they’re brothers again. and so saying goodbye to them for god knows how long is understandably a difficult task.

“we’ll see them again soon, yeah?” harry soothes as they head back to zayn’s apartment. zayn doesn’t say anything, just nods slowly and breathes in the rough city air. his clutch on harry’s hand is tighter than it was on the journey there. harry notices. he doesn’t mention it. zayn is silently thankful.

when they get back to zayn’s, they let themselves collapse on the couch, weary eyed and completely stuffed full of sandwiches and coffee. harry lets zayn clamber on top of him, lying face down on the former’s stomach. zayn presses his face into harry’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

they lay like that for a while, content. the ticking of the clock on the wall above the tv is the only noise for a long time, until eventually harry decides they’ve been lazy for a little too long. he rolls zayn off his stomach and onto the couch, then heads to the kitchen. zayn lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, while harry routes through the cupboards.

“when was the last time you went grocery shopping?” harry asks, frowning at the packet of noodles that is the only occupant of the bottom shelf of one of the cupboards. “dno, few weeks ago? i ate a lot last week, think i had a man period or something,” zayn replies, words muffled by the sleeve of his jacket, his arm thrown across his face.

“we’ll have to order pizza then,” harry mumbles, moving a few tins so the labels are facing the right way. he closes the cupboard and moves to the fridge, which is almost bare aside from a couple of beers, a carton of chocolate milk and a tub of margarine. “seriously, zayn, you’d think no one lives here,” he sighs, pulling out the carton and drinking a large portion of chocolate milk in one gulp.

“don’t drink my fucking milk,” zayn grumbles, standing up from the couch and shuffling into the kitchen to scold his boyfriend. he takes the carton and places it back into the fridge. harry grins, earning him a middle finger. “thats what happens when i stay at yours all the time, my place goes empty,” zayn sighs, lifting himself up onto the counter top. harry pulls out two beers and opens them on each other, handing one to zayn.

“maybe if we just lived together, this wouldn’t be a problem,” harry says, pressing a kiss against zayn’s forehead then skipping across the room, humming one of his own songs. “we basically do live together, when was the last time we didn’t share a bed?” zayn argues back, flicking between radio channels.

“i mean make it official. i’ll sell my place. we can live here. its nicer anyway, and bigger,” harry shrugs, scanning the wall decorations with his eyes as though he’s planning some big redecorating session. “you’re serious?” zayn asks, taking a big sip of his beer and kicking his feet against the cupboard beneath him.

“serious as a heart attack,” harry replies, spinning to face his boyfriend. his facial expression tickles zayn, making him chuckle and reach out a hand, which harry takes gladly and uses to pull himself closer. “okay then, mr styles. move your shit to my place, i’ll buy a popcorn machine, and hey presto,” zayn announces, kissing harry deeply then pushing him away by the chest with one finger.

“i hope you understand the commitment you just made, zee. no more dirty dishes everywhere, no more hour long showers at four in the morning,” harry teases, running his hands along the bar stools as his feet dance to the song on the radio. “fuck you, you love my four am shower concerts,” zayn protests. “yeah, i do,” harry confesses.

***

here he goes. another random club, another 2am adventure. but this time, zayn isn’t alone. harry and zayn dance together, their bodies synced with each other as they laugh, intoxicated with only alcohol. this, zayn thinks, is what feeling alive really means.

harry grabs zayn by his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, and zayn kisses back without hesitation. the music here is loud, but all harry can hear is his and zayn’s heartbeats in time with one another.

zayn’s wearing a black vest top and flared light denim jeans, and its something the old him would never dream of wearing but god, harry thinks, he looks fucking good. the eyeliner and silver stars have become zayn’s signature club look, and harry’s been taking some inspiration, decorating his entire face with small silver moons to coordinate with his boyfriend. 

they dance well into the night and as the morning comes and the first sign of daylight finally cracks its way through the black sky, the couple stumble out of the club hand in hand, giddy off cheap wine and a pure, genuine adrenaline rush. “come here, you,” zayn mumbles, wrapping arms around harry’s neck and kissing him. 

they go home like that, hand in hand, neither of them walking straight, both singing whatever abba song comes into their heads. they go to their home, not zayn’s apartment or harry’s apartment, zayn **and** harry’s apartment, and god if that doesn’t show how far they’ve come.

they collapse into bed together, harry’s arms around zayn’s waist, breathing the same air, living intertwined lives. 

zayn never believed in cliche love, like the stories he saw in movies. and he and harry are far from perfect. god, they fight like their lives depend on it sometimes, and every now and then zayn lets himself slip away into his own drug fuelled eutopia, and harry has to play babysitter. 

they’re not perfect when zayn leaves dishes everywhere and harry grumpily cleans them up. they’re not perfect when they won’t talk to each other for hours because of some stupid thing one of them did that won’t even matter eventually because they’ll cuddle up in bed every night regardless.

no, they’re not perfect, but zayn is zayn and harry is harry and for them that is blissfully enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> hiii i literally wrote this in one day because i was having a rough day and needed a distraction hdhdhdh. i hope u all enjoy! this is my longest fic i’ve posted on ao3 yikes, i hope its good lmk if u like :)


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